Editorials
Why ‘The Changeling’ Is a Better Horror Movie Than Stephen King’s ‘The Shining’
I know The Shining is aesthetically pleasing and has a cast many of us would have killed to work with. I am also painfully aware that it holds a special place on Nostalgia Avenue in many fan’s hearts. However, I wish The Changeling got some of that attention and fanfare. I find it much more engaging, human, and chilling while utilizing some of the same thematic elements. I know I am sadly an outlier here. I will have to settle for this being one of the few times I agree with Stephen King about something. So, it is a wildly random party of two, but it is a party nonetheless.
As a kid who loved horror movies, one of the things I learned fast is that some movies are sacred. As an adult who gets paid for being a nerd, I have learned that there are usually movies in the same wheelhouse of sacred films that will land better with certain individuals. This is why I am here in what I hope is a safe space to discuss what I have discovered is a hot take. I stand before you, ready to explain why I like The Changeling more than The Shining. Allow me to elaborate on my opinion that has probably caused a few people to scream into the empty abyss.
Please also allow me to remind you that your experience with these films is still your experience. I do not know you well enough, nor do I care enough to fight with you as if opinions are facts. That being said, let us unpack why I prefer The Changeling!
My History With Both Movies
The Shining is an iconic part of many horror fan’s journeys. Whether we like it, hate it, or are indifferent, many of us have childhood stories about it. We also cannot deny it has an aesthetic appeal on top of being blessed to have Jack Nicholson, Shelley Duvall, and Scatman Crothers in the cast. This title is so woven into required scary movie viewing that it was one of the few Stephen King adaptations I saw before reading the novel as a kid. When I saw King’s name on something I did not like, I figured I was broken and rewatched it a few times. So, I felt very vindicated later in life when I found out the author himself had issues with this adaptation.
Not only can he be found on record explaining his feelings about it (in quite a few places, but the YouTube interviews are some of my favorites), but he also wrote a miniseries adaptation to get something closer to his novel. When I finally read the book, I felt like all of the missing pieces to the puzzle had been found and wished more of them had made it onscreen. His book is actually the best of all three versions of this story, and it gives the character of Jack Torrance so much more depth than what was afforded him in Kubrick’s version.
How The Changeling and The Shining Explore Grief and Isolation
Speaking of depth, I discovered The Changeling about four years ago after a friend recommended it. I had no idea what it was about, nor that my weird little brain would draw comparisons between it and The Shining. While watching John Russell (George C. Scott) wander around a big haunted house as he grieved his family, lightbulbs kept going off in my head. At this point, I had read The Shining and saw the more nuanced version of Jack that had layers.
So, watching this and seeing a version of a dad going through a difficult time in a haunted house was just the beginning of the parallels. I get that grief and alcoholism are very different kinds of isolating journeys. I also understand that both movies are bigger conversations than sad dads who are haunted. However, it is hard to ignore the similarities when you know both movies came out months apart and do stumble into some of the same thematic elements.
Jack and John Go Up A Hill
Off the bat, the Torrances are reactionary instead of proactive. Things happen, and then they eventually do something about it. Even Jack’s willing collaboration with the evil spirits took forever. Although he was on board and seemingly waiting for a reason to kill his family. This script issue is part of why The Shining sometimes feels like a slog. It is always more exciting to give actors things to do. It also allows their characters to move through a story with a purpose.
Meanwhile, The Changeling gives us John, a man whose wallowing is interrupted by a mystery that gives him a reason to get out of bed. He is not passive as he investigates this ghost and tries to get to the bottom of its story. When he finds out a kid was murdered, he channels his sadness into trying to get justice for this boy who died decades ago. This is more interesting to watch as an audience member and gives the actor something to sink his teeth into. While you will never catch me slandering the acting abilities of Shelley Duvall or Jack Nicholson, the script did not help them. I would argue they succeeded despite the lack of characterization.
George C. Scott was given a role that allowed him to show a range of emotions. He played a man who did things instead of waiting for things to happen to him. Comparatively speaking, it is the difference between having one crayon and having the deluxe box with the built-in crayon sharpener. Maybe Wendy and Jack were written that way to further paint a bleak and cold portrait. However, whenever I revisit The Shining, I wish both of them had been given more because we know they could play more than one thing for almost three hours.
Fathers in Horror: Three Types of Dads and Their Narrative Impact
I sincerely believe the cast of The Shining did everything they could with what they were given. Their performances are one of the things I will always defend about this movie, but Jack was a very one-dimensional character. As a kid, I had to cut off contact with my alcoholic grandmother and then had to do the same to the closest thing to a friend I thought had who turned out to be an addict. I also have a huge distrust of dads because my dad was an asshole. However, even as a child, with all of that going on, I knew Jack and his recovery journey deserved better. He is written and directed to be menacing from the second we meet him.
There is no struggle with the big evil so much as an almost instant partnership. This is an uninteresting avenue to take that makes the actor work harder. I am fine disliking a character, and I usually prefer it. However, when written as a flatline, it makes it hard to understand their purpose. By Jack being annoyed and pissed at his family for the whole film, it cuts off any humanity and leaves us wondering why we care. After all, he has nothing to lose if we never see him give a shit about them.
The Changeling’s Depiction of a Truly Grieving Father
Meanwhile, John is a man who genuinely loved his tiny family. In the mere seconds we saw them together, we could tell they were his whole reason for being. Seeing him attempt to fight his way out of the phone booth, knowing it is already too late, tells us this is a different kind of father than Jack. This is further highlighted as we spend the entirety of The Changeling with him mourning his wife and daughter. We see him riding the rollercoaster of grief, which makes him want to help the ghost kid, Joseph, who lives in his home. Where previous people failed, he is practically running to save this young spirit and to maybe ease his survivor’s guilt as he could not save his daughter.
I think this is also fascinating because so much media depicts fathers as absent, assholes, and angry. Again, while I have my own father issues, it is nice to see something different every once in a while. It also gives Scott so much more to play with as an actor and also underscores the thematic elements of the film. This is probably one of the reasons my brain keeps comparing The Changeling to The Shining.
Found Places And Haunted Spaces
One of the things I do like about The Shining is the aesthetic. I am obsessed with Wendy’s wardrobe. However, it is the retro patterns found in the hotel decor that always catch my eye. The Overlook carpet has become so iconic that it is still used for merch today. This large empty evil hotel is a sight to behold but comes across as cold and sterile. We also see cool shots like the camera following Danny (Danny Lloyd) and his tricycle through the large hallways.
Sadly, these shots lose their luster as they get repeated a few too many times. I think it is to convey how huge the space was and how isolated the family was while giving a sense of danger. I know that works for most people, but the repetitive nature is one of the things that makes me squirm in my seat. The same goes for the empty space where Jack sets up his office. While it is nice to show the physical and mental distance Wendy has to travel to him in these moments, it is also cold, and we live in these moments for way too long each time.
How The Changeling Uses Space to Enhance Emotional Horror
That is not the case in John’s new haunted house. Do not get me wrong, this space is bigger than it needs to be for one sad man to roam around. However, it is used to show how isolated and alone he is through no fault of his own. Where Jack was a menace even before the spirits gave him an axe to grind, John lost his wife and daughter through a series of unfortunate events. Their deaths were sudden and left him to navigate the world with drastically different circumstances than he anticipated. So, the echo of the red ball bouncing down the stairs is haunting for many reasons. The mysterious banging of the pipes underscoring his gentle crying lands so hard because he is truly alone in the world.
Where there should be the noise of his daughter and his wife, there is the heavy weight of their absence. The palpable silence is filled only by Joseph trying to reach this new stranger. John is not hiding away in a room with two other people on the property to annoy him with their love. John’s house feels cold, but not for the same reasons as The Overlook. It is that way because he is still struggling to find his path back to becoming a person. He is also sharing the space with a ghost whose father murdered him and moved on.
The Fatherhood Themes Connecting Both Films
It is interesting that while Jack attempts to kill his family in The Shining, John moves into a house where a father drowned his helpless son. Unlike Jack, this man did it out of greed. That is especially interesting because John misses his daughter so much he struggles to be in the world without her. He is nothing like the man who used to live in his home or Jack, who seems upset he has a family. He is a third kind of dad who would trade so much for what the other two took for granted. Again, the weird connective tissue between these movies is so fascinating that it is now hard to think of one without the other. Much like the ghosts that haunt our protagonists, they haunt each other once you spend time with both films.
Stephen King’s Take on Both Films
I mentioned at the top of this article that I agree with Stephen King’s original assessment of Kubrick’s version of The Shining. However, I discovered last year that he and I share a love of The Changeling. In 2017, The British Film Institute celebrated the author with King On Screen. As part of the festivities, King was asked to choose movies he loved to screen as part of the tribute. One of the movies Uncle Stephen chose was The Changeling, and he explained:
“For supernatural horror, I like Peter Medak’s film The Changeling, starring George C. Scott in perhaps his last great screen role. There are no monsters bursting from chests; just a child’s ball bouncing down a flight of stairs was enough to scare the daylights out of me.” –The British Film Institute
King has seemingly thawed toward Kubrick’s version of The Shining over the decades. However, I find it interesting he chose Medak’s haunting film, which came out in the same year. I also noted that King On Screen was ten years after the miniseries he wrote, stylized as Stephen King’s The Shining aired. This could all totally be a huge coincidence. After all, The Changeling is a great film that just happened to also come out in 1980. I have also seen enough of Uncle Stephen’s recommendations to know this movie is right up his alley. However, even if that is the case, I feel this might also be a new level of professional pettiness to which I aspire.
Why The Changeling Deserves More Recognition
I know The Shining is aesthetically pleasing and has a cast many of us would have killed to work with. I am also painfully aware that it holds a special place on Nostalgia Avenue in many fan’s hearts. However, I wish The Changeling got some of that attention and fanfare. I find it much more engaging, human, and chilling while utilizing some of the same thematic elements. I know I am sadly an outlier here. I will have to settle for this being one of the few times I agree with Stephen King about something. So, it is a wildly random party of two, but it is a party nonetheless.
For more information on the lore behind The Shining, check out our Horror 101 article here!
The United States spent most of this year celebrating its 250th anniversary. There have been parades, fireworks, and endless reminders of what the nation wants us to think are its founding ideals. Yet anniversaries are as much about what we choose to remember as they are about what we choose to forget. There is another anniversary this year. Five years ago this month, Candyman was released. The fact that both that film and America are sharing an anniversary this year may have been an accident, but that makes it no less significant.
Released amid another national reckoning over race, Nia DaCosta’s film asks a question that every celebration of America ought to confront: Is it possible to commemorate this nation without fully reckoning with the violence woven into its history? More than a sequel to a horror classic, Candyman is a meditation on the ghosts that haunt America because it has never fully reckoned with the past that created them.
How the Original Candyman Confronted America’s Racial History
The original Candyman understood this. Released in 1992 and set in the almost post-apocalyptic urban decay that was Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects, Bernard Rose’s film arrived only months after the L.A. Race Riots, a moment when this country was coming to terms with the way the country’s relationship with Black folks was shaped by decades of segregation and racism.
Most audiences saw a supernatural slasher about a hook-handed killer summoned by saying his name five times into a mirror. But beneath the horror was a far more unsettling story. Candyman was about the lingering consequences of America’s racial history and the way white America has sometimes turned Black suffering into myth instead of confronting the systems that produced it.
The film’s true horror was never simply Candyman. It was the realization that monsters can be born from histories a nation refuses to face. That is exactly where the 2021 film expands the original’s vision.
Nia DaCosta’s Candyman Turns One Ghost Into Many
Bernard Rose’s Candyman explored the legacy of a single act of racist terror. Nia DaCosta’s film argues that the tragedy wasn’t confined to Daniel Robitaille, the man who became the monster. The 2021 film posits that Candyman is not one man but many.
Daniel Robitaille was lynched for loving a white woman. Sherman Fields takes on the mantle of the supernatural slasher because he was beaten to death by police after being falsely accused of harming a child. Anthony McCoy ultimately becomes part of the same legend. Their stories span generations, but they are connected by a nation that repeatedly produces the same injustice under different names at different points in history. The genius of the sequel is that it transforms Candyman from an individual ghost into a symbol of America’s recurring racial violence.
Candyman Shows How History Repeats Itself
History, the film suggests, is not something that happened once. It is something that keeps happening. That is why Candyman is one of my favorite films to teach in my Film and Philosophy course.
Students walk into class expecting a horror movie. They leave wrestling with questions about history, memory, and justice. We spend little time talking about jump scares or gore. (Because, let’s be honest, there is not much of that in the film.) Instead, we ask why some histories become legends while others are forgotten, what societies owe their victims, and whether a nation can ever move forward without honestly confronting the violence that shaped it.
The Horror of Remembering What America Wants to Forget
A good horror film reveals what we fear. What makes Candyman great is how it reveals what we would rather not remember. That is what haunted me the first time I saw it, long after the credits had rolled.
Five years after its release, Candyman remains one of the most unsettling movies in recent years because the history it confronts is not safely behind us. The original film understood that America’s racial violence could not simply be buried, while the 2021 film showed how easily that violence can be reproduced across generations.
Its Unquestionable Legacy in Horror
As America celebrates 250 years, Candyman reminds us that commemorating the nation’s founding requires remembering all this country’s history, including the parts that make the celebration uncomfortable.
We cannot exorcise a ghost by refusing to acknowledge why it exists. Perhaps that is the film’s most important lesson. The past does not haunt us because we remember it. It haunts us because we don’t.
Sometimes it feels borderline ridiculous to gush about John Carpenter’s The Thing as much as I do. It’s gotten to the point where when I’m asked about my favorite horror film by both friends and strangers, a little bit of embarrassment tinges my expression as I answer; it feels so obvious and rarely surprises anyone. Saying I love The Thing when people expect me to bust out an obscure foreign horror film or a cerebral thriller makes me feel like a rosy cheeked child with a propeller hat and a giant lollipop. “Wow, you love one of the most popular horror films of all time, congrats!”
But it’s just the truth. The first film of John Carpenter’s “Apocalypse Trilogy”, all three of its films are among my favorites. But The Thing has a special place in my heart. It shaped my taste in horror, my taste in most media in general, to be honest. It’s become the gold standard, 10/10 baseline test for the vast majority of my reviews; it is a perfect film, so I judge other films against it. And it’s one of the few movies I have to run back to and watch yearly like clockwork (usually when I’m spending a part of winter tied to the couch). It is, in all regards, the perfect film. If it isn’t the perfect film, then it is at the very least the perfect sci-fi horror film.
So, what exactly qualifies The Thing for literal perfection? It’s a high bar to clear. This article, as informal as it is compared to most of my editorials, is an attempt to explain it.
Even if Carpenter Isn’t the Goat, His Team for The Thing Was
As far as crews go, John Carpenter’s The Thing had the cinematic equivalent of the ’96 Chicago Bulls behind it. We’re talking about an amalgam of some of the most talented people to ever grace the silver screens with their work, boasting alongside John Carpenter two of the heaviest hitters in all of cinematic history: Dean Cundey, and Rob Bottin. Now, we can debate all day about whether John Carpenter is the greatest of all time when it comes to horror directors. Personally, I’m just as liable to say Cronenberg, Del Toro, or Hooper as I am to say Carpenter.
But the key factor to remember here is that Carpenter is the coach, not the star player; the Phil Jackson, if you will. Yes, he is the visionary who directed a near perfect cast of players and composed a tale of pure, apocalyptic paranoia. More importantly, he put together and coordinated the team that would make his vision manifest as reality. And if Carpenter is Phil Jackson, Rob Bottin is the team’s Michael Jordan here, the greatest of all time.
(And to all my Lebron fans, I love you, but you have to sit down for this analogy.)
The Legend of Rob Bottin
Bottin’s story is borderline unbelievable, but it’s the best way to explain how abnormally skilled he is and what he brought to the table for Carpenter. At age 14, Bottin became an apprentice to the at-the-time GOAT Rick Baker after sending him a letter seeking an autograph while sharing his creature designs. He was a quick study under Baker, joining him on the ’76 King Kong and Star Wars, before bouncing to Carpenter’s The Fog and then iconic werewolf picture The Howling.
When he reunited with Carpenter in 1982, he now had 6 classic films under his belt and was moving like an FX bullet train. From ages 22 to 23, he worked on The Thing for 57 weeks in both pre-production and on set. Nearly 24/7 for 400 days, Bottin’s all-gas no-brakes work ethic made The Thing at the cost of his own health, and it resulted in him being hospitalized with pneumonia. He survived and went on to make Robocop. And at least one of your favorite films.
Because no conventional disease or weaponry can kill Rob Bottin.
The Thing Still Features Horror’s Best Practical Effects
Okay, that last bit might be hyperbolic, but the man sincerely put his life on the line to make special effects that haven’t been topped since. Not the best effects in just horror history, or science fiction history, but effects that haven’t been topped in any genre for over 44 years. Not by his mentor Rick Baker, not by Screaming Mad George, not by Alec Gillis (though shoutout to him for his criminally scrapped work on The Thing (2011), and even more criminally ignored work on Harbinger Down). I love Dawn of the Dead, believe me, I do, but he certainly isn’t being beaten out by Tom Savini’s body of work. And that isn’t to disrespect and say that all of the artists that I just mentioned are bad, they’re the best in the game! But Rob Bottin was just that much better.
This inevitably invites the counterpoint: “But it wasn’t just Bottin! Stan Winston and his people were the ones who worked on the Dog Thing to give Bottin’s crew a break, and that’s the best monster in the movie!”. To which I say: look me in the eye and tell me the Dog Thing sequence is better than the Palmer Thing sequence. That’s not even counting the Norwegian Thing, both Norris Things, and the absolutely masterful final creature work that was the Blair Thing. The only reason Bottin and his people didn’t win Academy Awards for their work was because they got jumped by E.T., The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, and Blade Runner all at the same time at the Oscars. It’s just a consequence of being released during the best year for movies ever.
Okay, Now We Can Talk About Dean Cundey
But of course, these effects are then supported by another true legend: Dean Cundey. Selling people on Rob Bottin being the greatest effects artist of all time, isn’t nearly as difficult as advocating for Cundey, who despite an impressive catalog of filmography, slowed down in the back half of his career. He’s often overshadowed in conversations when it comes to The Thing; it’s always talk of Carpenter’s directing, Bottin’s effects, and Ennio Morricone’s incredible soundtrack up front, and rarely any of Cundey’s work. He isn’t spoken about in the same breath as John Alcott or Michael Ballhaus, cinematographers whose work is associated with prestigious cinema because of their proximity to great directors.
Cundey might not be the director of photography your Martin Scorsese’s or Paul Thomas Anderson’s went running to, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most important cinematographer in horror history, just for his work with Carpenter and Spielberg. He helmed three of the most influential films in all of horror with his lighting and camera operating: The Thing, Halloween, and Jurassic Park. The man’s fingerprints are automatically on the cultural DNA of all slashers, most practical effects-driven horror films, and the biggest gateway horror franchise in film history.
The Dream Team That Made The Thing Perfection
Cundey has gone on record saying that despite Carpenter’s input, he was effectively given free rein to light and frame The Thing. The man didn’t just know how to shoot effects to make them evoke true disgust from the audience, he was able to manipulate every aspect of the shot to terrify. His sixth sense cinematography wasn’t just for lighting and playing with shadows, but for the speed of camera movement, the power of his blocking, and for having a complete grasp of communicating texture and temperature.
And temperature is the soul of The Thing. John J. Lloyd’s production design of the research station and the great white expanse around it feels just as bone chilling as the film’s antagonist, thanks to Cundey. There isn’t a single flat shot in the thing, not a moment that doesn’t feel dynamic, and it’s because of Dean Cundey.
Now, all this being said about Bottin and Cundey, they are far from the only ones who synthesized this structurally perfect organism of a movie. Every bit of Todd C. Ramsay’s editing splices the film’s scenes together to move perfectly in-time. David Lewis Yewdall’s sound design and how it gave a voice to the horrors on screen will be etched into people’s brains forever. The point is that everyone, every single person who had a hand in making the film, helped make the movie flawless.
Like the cells of the thing from another world, each crew member on John Carpenter’s The Thing moved in concert with the next, in unison, to create the greatest sci-fi horror of all time. So, is it any wonder why 40 some years later, the film still has us all captured?
